


you'll get used to it

by cptsuke



Series: 32 [1]
Category: The Losers (Comic), The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:51:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsuke/pseuds/cptsuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>second person POV, Jensen's  thoughts during that final confrontation off the coast of Qatar</p>
            </blockquote>





	you'll get used to it

You're still reeling from Aisha's sudden declaration of war. You're running on adrenaline and fear and terror and elation and how am I still alive? And goddamn let's do this and you never want to come down from it because it's going to fucking burn and tear you apart as soon as you let it in.  
  
Only, somehow, there's another Max, even though you know for a fucking fact that he just went flaming out the fucking window and seriously what the fuck? When did you enter the fucking twilight zone?  
  
Only it kind of makes perfect fucking sense, really. And, oh fuck, retreat would be really fucking great right now.  
  
The grenade goes bouncing past your hip, comes to rest right beside you - _squished up behind the only fucking cover you've got and fucking hell will people just STOP shooting at you already_? - and it's like a goddamned game of catch where the winners gets the loser's blood in their eyes.  
  
 _You are so far in over your head that it's six kinds of ridiculous._  
  
You want out. That's your one fucking thought. Fuck, maybe you should be standing next to Cougar. Guns pointed at the heart of that fucking son of the bitch. Only you're not fucking sure Max'd actually fucking die.  
  
Fuck. Maybe he is a fucking zombie. You're not completely unconvinced that he's not a million conspiracy theories rolled into two identical, insane psychopaths.  
  
But, honestly? You just don't fucking care anymore.  
  
You've seen him fucking get killed him once already, _seen Clay go with him_.  
  
And yeah, that's going to sucker punch you later - going to sneak up on you and make you fucking bleed - but for now it's not real, doesn't feel real and can't have possibly have happened.  
  
So you fucking run. Cougar will follow you after he's done what he had to do because that's what he fucking does. He gets that you're one fucking step away from climbing the walls or from just fucking curling up and having a goddamn fucking break down. Eyes rolling back, frothing at the mouth and biting your tongue, _the whole nine yards._  
  
So you lead the fucking way. You're still prying the fucking elevator door open when Cougar comes up behind you with gunfire on his goddamned tail. Like you needed that to hurry your ass up. Somehow Max is still alive, which you know makes no fucking sense to you, because Cougar never misses, so maybe the fucker _actually_ is a fucking zombie.  
  
A fucking elevator shaft. Later you are going to have a fucking long giggle about how fucking cliche you've gotten.  
  
Cougar goes down it shooting. Like a fucking boss. There's blood fucking dripping from the goddamned cables as you climb down the ladder like a fucking normal person. _Like a goddamned pussy_.  
  
 _Jesus fucking Christ_.  
  
  
This shit is no longer bananas. This shit has gone past bananas and well, shit, you don't know what the fuck is more bananas than bananas.  
  
But you're getting used to it. You can get used to everything over time. Like the fear. You're so fucking used to feeling it that you're sitting back waiting for the next big bad to show it's ugly fucking face because _goddamn_ bring it on.  
  
Only the fear is still fucking there. Like when you're running down a hallway that's barely fucking discernible from the previous six ones and suddenly you're fucking ten years old again. Just waiting to be fucking jumped upon, so you can startle and pull a fucking stupid face and just be fucking _scared_.  
  
Only maybe you won't because you're getting out of here now and the _outside_ is so fucking close you can taste that horrible fucking saltiness in the back of your throat and all up in your nose. You've got a fucking mission - _get the hell out of dodge_ \- and that's all you need to become a goddamn heat seeking missile of never-being-scared-again.  
  
  
You have never been so surprised as the moment Fahd opens fire on you. Seriously it comes out of fucking nowhere. But fuck, apparently your _holy-shit-where-the-fuck-did-that-come-from?_ instinct is to shoot the ever loving fuck out of whatever's surprised you.  
  
Point One for the American War Machine.  
  
You don't know whether you've been hit. Doesn't that sound like the stupidest fucking thing you've ever heard? Only you've once gone three hours before realising that the round you took in your kevlar actually went straight fucking though. Embarrassing as it was when Roque shook you like a fucking ragdoll; bitching at you to _look after your goddamn self for fuck's sake_.  
  
But you don't have fucking time to worry about or even check yourself because Cougar's going down in front of you. Sliding to the floor, blood fucking coming out as he fucking grunts. Because he's too fucking manly to go _I'm fucking hurt_.  
  
  
You're not Pooch. You don't got no good reason for splitting from the clusterfuck of a fucking ' _mission_ ' early.  
  
But now every fucking reason you ever had for staying is bleeding out as you fucking panic and flail and ride the adrenaline train towards it's crushing end. And you're so _close_ to the end. And. Jesus. Fuck.  
  
  
There is nothing nice about saying goodbyes dressed up as I'll-see-you-laters. Especially not while a newly perforated corpse stinks up the room.  
  
So instead you say _stay safe_ and _here's every piece of ammunition I have_ and _I'll be back with the fucking cavalry_. And your Mexican motherfucker just grins and you both know nothing says _don't come back_ and _I'm not waiting for you_ like going up in a goddamned mushroom cloud.  
  
Maybe Roque was right all the fucking long - while you hid and he killed a corpse - maybe you have always been a pussy.  
  
Whatever the fucking truth is, all you know is that's what you are right fucking now.  
  
  
You've never been one for the big decision making. Never been one for fucking volunteering or any of that shit. You've never been moulded that way.

  
Now it seems you're not fucking made for happy endings either.


End file.
